Into the smoke

It was time to get out of the house yesterday and prime the adrenalin pump. I was tired of shallow breathing and inactivity. So I suggested a ride to the upper falls of Deer Creek, making no reference to destinations beyond (and closer to the fire.

"What about all the fire and smoke up there?", asked the redhead.

"Well, the weather report showed the smoke blowing to the southwest, and the road is open". That quelled her concerns.

We were driving up Rt 32 listening to Car Talk on the radio and the smoke was getting thicker, when the redhead observed that "breathing smoke can be bad for your health".

At this point in the program Ray was dissing his older brother about being "a city guy" with not an iota of the nature lover in his bones. The perfect cue for a change of topic.

"I always wonder if a month of outward bound would work on someone like Tommy Magliozzi. Do you think it would convert him to birdwatching and collecting pine cones?"

"We're getting closer to the fire," answered the redhead.

It was clear that the smoke was still spilling down the creek valleys, but it made for a pleasing background effect at the falls.



We lingered for a while, and I photographed the fish ladder tunnel. It's an impressive feat of engineering, but the sign says the salmon didn't like it.



My wife agreed to continue the ride to Lassen National Park. Apparently the smoke was affecting her thinking.

There was no one at the entrance booth. Everyone in the park looked to be our age or older, so maybe there was no need. We all have Golden Age passes, you know, and get in for free. It was good to see crews working on Sunday and removing white fir. With decades of fire control this highly flammable species has turned groves of jeffrey pine into thickets.

So the moonlight fire rages on. It is 15% in containment, and has scorched 52,000 acres. The smoke was thick even in Lassen, and we didn't see a single pika. They were all underground, probably with asthma.

Revenge of the otters

Butte Lake Campground, Lassen National Park:

The grandkids were swimming at Butte Lake when I overheard the camp host mention otters to a family near by. It piqued my interest, and later that afternoon I was lucky enough to engage the host as he was making the rounds checking camp sites.

"I overheard you mention otters today down at the boat launch. Are they stealing fish?"

"No, but we had one bite a swimmer here on the 4th of July. He was checked in right here at this camp site." Small coincidence.

The victim, I learned, was a young man in his thirties, who had planned to spend a few days at Butte Lake with his wife and 8-month old baby. They arrived at 5:00 that afternoon, unpacked, and went to the lake for a swim. The husband swam out about 100 yards, while mother and baby waited on the beach. Then he turned around and headed for shore. His wife saw the otter swimming towards him when he was about 50 feet from the beach.

It was NOT a member of the local welcoming committee. The otter sunk its teeth into the man's upper calf, and worked its way forward, biting him above the elbow, on the latissimus (under the arm), and twice on the face below the eye. I gathered that the body bites were on the right side, and the facial bites were on the left.

So much for a happy family camping trip. They left at 8:00 that evening, and headed for the nearest hospital in Susanville, an hour and a half away. The face bites required 11 stitches, and the doctors started rabies inoculations. One aggressive otter curtailed a three day camping trip to 3 hours, and the National Park Service posted a warning.



Apparently otter attacks are becoming more common in the US, and the most likely explanation is that human recreation is becoming more common in otter habitat. Otters are highly territorial and don't tolerate the intrusions of neighboring otters. Thay also have strong maternal instincts. So it is NOT unnatural for a mother to defend her youngsters against large swimming mammals that splash about and make loud noises. To a wild otter people can be scary as hell.

Perhaps that's what happened at Butte Lake. The otter birth peak is in March and April, and the young aren't weaned for another three months. This puts the mother and her mobile but inexperienced youngsters in the water in June and July, when they forage together as a family. You can expect such mothers to be protective.

That would explain the other July otter attack in the Sierra Nevada and one that took place in April when an otter attacked a crew team on the Connecticut River.

More difficult to explain however are otter attacks on pets. One would expect a territorial otter to drive a frisky lab out of the water, but wildlife biologists scratch their heads when an otter attacks and drowns an Eskimo dog. Is this normal behavior? Have they been eating bad (=chemically contaminated) fish? Or are they suffering from rabies?

Inevitably the call goes out to remove the animals.

Which raises the question. Where else but in nature do we punish healthy maternal instinct?

As this codger sees it, if you you want to live close to nature, be prepared for the risks. Isn't it better to be bitten by an otter than the Taco Bell chihuahua?